


Maybe I Wasn't Meant For Anyone

by ohthedrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Cute, Drabble, Drarry, Fluff, M/M, Romance, draco and harry - Freeform, draco x harry - Freeform, harry x draco - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthedrarry/pseuds/ohthedrarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco knows how to control other people’s emotions; he’s also quite the masochist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe I Wasn't Meant For Anyone

Draco could feel the sweat sticking to his skin beneath his white button-up. The air around him was hot; he felt as if he might suffocate if he stayed inside the Potions classroom another minute. Professor Slughorn frowned slightly as he looked over at Seamus Finnigan, who had somehow managed to make another simple potion catch flames and explode. 

"Why do you even try?" Ron mumbled, glaring at his fellow Gryffindor across the table. "Honestly. You're rubbish."

"Don't be rude," Harry chided. He smacked Ron's arm gently and tugged him back to their array of ingredients. Draco pulled his eyes away from Harry. 

He looked absolutely delicious today; more so than usual. His hair was sticking up in all sorts of directions and his lightly tanned skin was flushed. A light blush had begun to creep up his neck and tinge his cheeks without any obvious cause. His shirt hung loose around his collarbones, the top two buttons still undone. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his toned forearms and the tight muscles at his biceps. His shirt was un-tucked and whenever he turned Draco could see the elastic of his boxers peaking up over the top of his low hanging pants. 

Draco liked it when Harry didn't look so put-together and like the Chosen One. He preferred the loose, I-like-to-break-the-rules kind of look. Today, Harry looked like the kind of boy who would steal you away in the middle of the night for a secret ride on his Firebolt above the Forbidden Forest. 

The cauldron in front of Draco began to excitedly boil and he rushed to grab the few ingredients he'd forgotten to add. He stirred the mixture soothingly and sighed in relief when it returned to a soft simmer. The last thing he needed was to draw any unnecessary attention toward himself. He didn't think he could handle Potter looking at him with those eyes for more than a few moments before he too would explode. 

 

After class, Draco disappeared hurriedly out of the room and made his way through the dungeons. He rushed around a corner and ducked into a hidden stairwell. As he waited for people to disperse he pulled out his worn and tattered notebook. Inside were a number of things he'd never want anyone to see: spells he'd thought of late at night that could control others' emotions, notes jotted down about how they worked on Pansy, about a hundred doodles of Harry doing a number of normal, every day things. 

Draco turned to his most recent and pulled out a quill from his satchel, picking up where he left off. He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he focused on properly drawing Harry's jawline. No matter how many times he practiced, no matter how hard he tried, he could never get it just right. It was beginning to eat away at him.

"Malfoy?" Draco snapped the book shut as he heard that voice. He looked up to see Harry standing a few inches away from him, bag thrown over one shoulder. His nimble fingers were gripping onto the shoulder strap and Draco had to stop himself from thinking of what they would look like wrapped around other things. 

"Potter," he shot back on instinct. He never meant to be short and bristly when it came to Harry, but it was a reflex. Harry was a charming, handsome, good-for-nothing boy who had the world literally eating out of the palm of his hand. He didn't know what it meant to pretend to be something that you aren't; he didn't know what it was like to live a lie. 

"What are you doing back here?" Harry asked, peering into the little stairwell. The spiral staircase lead up and out of sight, the steps disappearing into the dark. He raised an eyebrow at Draco suspiciously. 

"I don't believe that's any of your business," Draco snapped. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"What's that?" Harry nodded at the journal in his hands. 

"N-nothing," Draco shrugged. He tried to act nonchalant, but the way his fingers clutched tighter at the leather binding must have given him away. Harry lunged for the book. "Potter! In the name of-"

"Is that me?" 

He stopped half-way through getting up, his arm extended toward Harry in a futile attempt to get the book back. He sighed and plopped down on the stone step, defeated. By the end of the hour the entire school would know about it. Harry would surely tell everyone. Draco began to mentally prepare a list of insults and threats to attack Harry with.

"You haven't done my chin quite right there," Harry tilted the book so that Draco could see it. "It's not quite that round."

"I'll hex you into- what?" Draco raised his eyebrows in surprised, his eyes widening. He was sure he looked like a fool sitting there like that, staring at Potter dumbstruck. But he couldn't help it. Harry was lecturing him on how to properly draw his chin. 

"My chin," Harry repeated. "It's not that round. Other than that you did a fairly okay job. I didn't know you could draw."

Harry kept flipping through the pages and Draco could feel his world spiraling out of control. He didn't know what to do or what to say. He'd spent many sleepless nights staring at the damned thing, wondering if it was safe to even bring it to school at all. There were too many nosy twits in the Slytherin house; too many opportunities for kids like the Weasley twins to snatch it up when he wasn't looking. 

"I can never get it right," he found himself saying, "it gets on my nerves."

Brilliant, Draco. Really brilliant. 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip for a few brief moments and Draco swore his heart was going to hammer right out of his chest. He could feel it beating against his lungs almost painfully. He didn't like feeling like this; like he was out of control. Harry had so much power over him now it was intense. Draco was genuinely frightened. 

"If I was there in front of you, could you do it?" Harry asked. Draco's heart stopped completely.

"What?"

"If I was there would you be able to do it?" Harry repeated. "Like, if I was modeling for you."

Draco felt like doing a million back flips while simultaneously drowning himself in the Black Lake. Surely Potter was joking... right? The idea of him willingly doing anything for Draco was impossible. He couldn't even laugh at the idea it was so ludicrous. 

"I mean..." he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. "I suppose."

"I really can't have you running around drawing me with a screwed up chin," Harry stated, handing the journal back to Draco. "What if someone finds it and thinks that's what I really look like? That'd be awful."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, scrunching up his nose as if the very idea of someone not seeing how gorgeous he is displeased him. Maybe he wasn't wrong about Harry; maybe he was a completely self-centered git. 

"What are you suggesting?" Draco asked slowly, speaking as if he was conversing with a three year old. 

"We should meet in the Room of Requirement this weekend," Harry smiled. "Saturday night?"

"Uh..." Draco awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. He couldn't tell if Harry was being serious or not, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. 

"I'll see you there around ten," Harry winked. The bell rang throughout the castle and he sighed. "I'm late for Transfiguration. McGonagall is going to kill me. I'll see you Saturday."

Draco watched as Harry took off down the hall, disappearing around the corner. He felt lightheaded, like he'd had one of those infernal toffees the Weasley's had left in the Slytherin common room a few years prior. He thought he might be sick. 

He thought he was being played. 

 

Despite his gut instinct, Draco was standing outside the Room of Requirement Saturday night just before ten. He hung back, sticking to the shadows so that no one would see him. He didn't want to be caught out late, nor did he want to be around if Harry sent someone else to see if he'd actually showed up. Part of him thought it was a joke; the biggest joke that had ever been played on someone in the history of Hogwarts. Another part of him, a really small part, hoped that Harry was being honest. 

A few minutes past ten Draco was ready to leave. No one had come to make fun of him, but Harry hadn't come either. Maybe he'd forgotten?

"What are you hiding for?" a voice asked from somewhere to his left. Draco jumped as Harry materialized into view, removing the Invisibility Cloak. Draco clutched at his chest in an attempt to calm his breathing. 

"That wasn't funny," he glared as Harry began to laugh, his eyes sparkling in the pale light. The corridor was illuminated with cold grey moonlight streaming in through the windows. Harry's skin looked more pale than usual; it suited him well. 

"It was kind of funny," Harry smiled. "Do you have everything?"

"I have my journal and a quill?" Draco's statement came out as a question instead of a short snap of a response. He didn't know what else he'd really need to be honest. 

Harry shook his head and walked toward the wall on the other side of the corridor. It began to melt away and stone turned to wood before Draco's very eyes. Harry pushed on the door and it gave way to his touch. The two stepped inside. 

Whatever Draco had been expecting, it wasn't that. The entire room was comfortablly furnished, with a bed, a love seat, a big chair, and a fireplace burning off to the left. The furniture was a deep maroon color to match the wallpaper. Dark wood trimmings went throughout the entire space. Over to Draco's right was a complete art studio set up: an easel, a drafting board, a desk, a collection of oil pens, charcoal, ink, paint - anything Draco could ever need. 

"I want you to paint me," Harry said, stepping further into the room. He dropped the invisibility cloak onto the love seat and turned to face Draco, his hands on his hips. 

"You want me to paint you?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "That's going to take a while... more than one night here. I don't think we'll have enough time..."

"So start with a sketch tonight," Harry replied, "and then work from there. We can come back." 

Draco didn't know what to say. He didn't think it was real. He had to be dreaming; that was the only logical explanation. He'd fallen off his broom at quidditch practice and was in the Hospital Wing in a coma. That was the only way the entire ordeal made any bit of sense. 

"How do you want me to draw you?" Draco asked, standing up a little bit straighter. While he was more than slightly confused he was also extremely excited; he had Harry fucking Potter, alone, in the Room of Requirement, who was willing to lounge somewhere and let Draco draw him. 

"However you'd like to," Harry answered. His voice came out a bit hoarse and rough. The atmosphere in the room dramatically changed. There was something almost electrical filling up the space. Harry's words sent shivers down Draco's spine. He licked his lip. 

"Take your shirt off."

 

Fall moved quietly into winter as Draco and Harry's weekly visits continued. Draco couldn't help it; seeing Harry half naked once a week was starting to get to his head. He'd find himself staring at the boy in Potions, thinking about how bloody amazing he looked on the love seat, one leg dangling off, the other propped up and bent at the knee. His left arm also hung off the arm rest while his right lounged on the back of the couch. Every now and again Harry would turn to face Draco and just watch him work away on the canvas. 

"How's my chin coming?" Harry had asked one night. He hadn't spoken in nearly two hours and Draco had almost forgotten that he was really there at all. He'd started to pretend that it was a statue of Harry sat before him and not the real man. If he accepted that he was painting the real Harry Potter half naked he might lose his shit altogether. 

"It'd be better if you didn't stop moving," Draco snapped back out of habit. He winced and then looked to make sure he hadn't offended Harry in any way. The small smirk on Harry's face told him he hadn't and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Draco couldn't deny it; his schoolboy crush on Harry had bloomed into something much more real. He found himself thinking of Harry in more than just a I-want-to-fuck-you-shitless type of way. He found himself dreaming about the way Harry's fingertips would feel on his skin and how smooth his lips would be against his own. He wanted to reach out and touch Harry innocently and softly, with simple caresses and gentle pecks on his cheeks. His nose, Draco came to realize, was a little like a button and he wanted to tap it with the tip of his finger. Harry would laugh, he pictured, and he'd bury his face closer to Draco's neck and breathe against his pulse. 

"I can't help it," Harry's words broke him out of his thoughts. Draco cleared his throat. 

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed dramatically and leaned so that he was hanging upside down off the love seat. The red velvet looked lush against his skin and Draco could feel blush spreading up his neck. "I really want to see how you see me. It's... different."

Draco chewed on his bottom lip and thought about it. The painting was coming along well, better than he thought it would have. The jawline was nearly perfect, the chin just the right amount of boyish fat giving way to rugged structure. His torso flowed elegantly to his abdomen and lower to his hips, where amber skin gave way to the dark grey of Harry's pants. A few weeks prior they had decided that Harry shouldn't wear shoes; his bare feet were placed against the fabric of the seat with grace. 

"Come here," Draco whispered, scooting his chair sideways to make room for Harry to stand beside him. Harry's eyes widened in surprise but he stood and walked to Draco's side. Having Harry so close to him had Draco feeling more on edge than he had since the day Harry first saw his sketches. He licked his lips and tried to ignore the heat building beneath his skin. 

"That's actually really incredible," Harry breathed, reaching up to touch the canvas. Draco made a noise through his teeth and Harry stopped just before his finger brushed the wet paint. "I'm sorry, it just... that's amazing. Do I really look like that?"

"What do you mean?" Draco looked up at him, watching Harry carefully. He was eye-level with Harry's bare navel and he fought to keep his eyes from following the trail of wispy hair down to the belt holding his pants up. Instead he moved his eyes up higher, taking in every movement Harry's muscles made as they tensed and then relaxed again. His neck was smooth and the skin was untouched. Draco wondered if Harry had ever felt someone's lips on his skin, sending chills down his spine. 

"I look... good..." Harry let out a soft laugh. Draco joined him. 

"You always look good," he replied without thinking. He stopped and snapped his eyes to Harry's face. They shared similar expressions: expressions of surprise, shock, and mild embarrassment. 

"Do I?" 

The energy in the room shifted exactly as it had their first night there. Draco had to fight the urge to reach out and touch Harry's skin, and it seemed that Harry had the same idea and a lot less self-control. Harry reached out and touched Draco's cheek softly, tentatively, like he was scared of what could happen. Draco felt as if all of his wildest dreams were being realized and he couldn't help himself. As soon as Harry's palm met his skin he reached forward toward Harry's hip. Slowly he brushed his fingertips against the heated skin, watching as the muscles beneath rippled. 

"You do," Draco leaned in and placed a kiss right above Harry's navel. "You always do."

He made his way up to Harry's chest, slowly rising out of the chair. Harry kept his hand on Draco's cheek guiding him upwards. They quickly became level with each other, their lips inches apart. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them blinking. 

"You always look good too," Harry finally broke the silence. "No matter what kind of day you're having."

"Some days are better than others," Draco allowed. He knew what Harry meant, or was trying to mean. Some days Draco was on top of the world, and others the world was caving in around him. 

"Even on your worst days you're absolutely stunning," Harry blushed. "Did I just call you stunning?"

"You did," The corner's of Draco's mouth tilted up at the corners. "And I must say I disagree. You're the one who's stunning."

And then their lips were meeting in the middle, moving against each other like they were meant to from the moment they were born. Their hands gripped at each others's clothes, hips, hair, shoulders - anywhere their fingers could find purchase. It was like nothing Draco had ever experienced before. 

_You're kissing Harry Potter._

The thought alone was enough to make Draco almost freeze. He forced himself to keep his lips moving, much as he often had to do with Pansy late at night. He acted out his part while his mind raced. 

What did this mean? What kinds of things did this change? Did this mean Harry shared his feelings? Had this all been a rouse to get close to him? Was he still being played in an extremely long and drawn out prank? Was this the moment Potter had been waiting for? Is this how it ended? Weasley was surely going to appear from some corner of the room and before morning everyone would know. 

Or maybe Harry was being serious. Maybe Draco's feelings were truly reciprocated, and there could be something there. Perhaps the two had something real that could grow and become something incredible. He could see the two of them taking on the world together, hand-in-hand, wands at the ready. No one could stop them. Draco felt like he could fly. He kissed back with a renewed enthusiasm...

No. Draco and Harry could never have anything real. Draco was tortured soul with a history that would scare even the great Harry Potter away. He had to stop this. He had to end it. 

"The picture is incredible," Harry murmured against his lips. "It's like you were meant to paint me... like you were meant for me."

Draco pulled back and turned around, scratching the back of his neck. His hand was shaking and he felt as if he might throw up. He had to end it. Now.

"Discant Oderunt," Draco whispered, turning around to face Harry. It was a spell he'd been working on; a spell to spread hatred. The confused furrow on Harry's brow changed to something much more familiar. His chin tilted upwards as he stood a little straighter. Harry's eyes narrowed. Without another word, Harry picked up his things and left the room. Draco slowly followed him out into the corridor, raising his wand at Harry's retreating back. "Obliviate."

Harry stopped in his tracks as if he'd come to a sudden realization. He turned and looked around as if wondering what he was doing in that part of the castle so late at night, and shirtless. Draco clung to the shadows and waited until Harry had shrugged it off and tugged on the Cloak, disappearing from sight. 

"I wasn't meant for you," Draco whispered into the night. "Maybe I wasn't meant for anyone."

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos & comments <3  
> you can also follow my tumblr, draqo-pctter!


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